When numbers mean, well … not much

Although my career choice doesn't make it obvious, I really like math.

My math SAT score was 80 points higher than my English.

Go figure.

Our three sons are all math-heads. Tom, a math major, just started a position at JPL. (Now we can't joke with him, Hey, it's not rocket science! Sigh.)

Tom and his bride are even in the process of moving into a house on Euclid Street.

Lena was hilarious when the option came up. "Euclid Street?! No way! I'm not living on Math Street!"

But once she saw it, she changed her mind. Blue and yellow dream kitchens will do that.

And last night our youngest took me to his school's Open House. As we chatted with James's second grade teacher, she told me that when she reviewed with the class how subtraction works ("the big number always comes first, minus the smaller number,") James's hand shot up.

"Um…technically…not always…"

James like negative numbers. Has since Kindergarten. Might have something to do with negative gravity…

So when Will routes us a sheet full of numbers, my heart skips a beat.

Not that he's asking me to personally perform any fancy trig functions, but I'm ready.